The Bet 2: Chasing Chad (musc hypno)
by Jaypat
When I got down to the cafeteria for lunch on Monday, I really had to fight the urge to tell Peter about my little rendezvous with Chad. Although Peter was a good friend, he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. And if this got out, I was pretty sure it would end, and I really didn’t want it to end. So I clamped my mouth shut and just acted as though everything was normal. Until that is, Derek lurched over and sat down, wincing.
“Jeeze, Derek, are you ok?”
“Pain,” he groaned, “all over. Joined a gym over the weekend. Can barely move.”
“Did you ever think of just easing into it?” asked Peter, laughing.
“No, no time. I need to put on some muscle,” said Derek. And as soon as he said that, little alarm bells started going off in the back of my mind. They weren’t loud and I wasn’t sure what they meant, but they were definitely there. Fortunately, I have a natural inborn ability to shut such nuisances off; it’s the secret of my success. So, I gave the slightest effort, and poof they went away. Everything was bright and happy once more.
“What’s the hurry?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know,” said Derek. “I just think it would be cool.”
Hmmm, that’s a little different. Obviously this was the new into-muscle Derek we were seeing. I could almost taste that two hundred dollars. Time to test him out.
“Hey, Derek,” I said. “Check out Brian’s guns. Think they’re at eighteen and a half yet?”
“Where?” he said.
Ah ha! He was interested! “Over by the trash can.” Derek spun around and stared, but he was being way too obvious.
“Holy crap,” shouted Derek. “Look at the size of him. I wonder how he got that big. Do you think he’d tell me?”
“Sure,” I said, making frantic quiet gestures, “if you make it your last request. Are you fucking crazy? You don’t talk to the meat. And shouting about it isn’t healthy either.”
“And it’s probably safer not to stare,” said Peter, shielding his eyes, and looking at the table.
“Why?” asked Derek.
“Straight guys can’t stand being stared at by gay guys,” I said. “But don’t blame them. They can’t help it. It’s in their genes.”
“In their genes?” said Peter looking at me skeptically. “So there’s a straight guy gene, too?”
“Of course there is,” I said. “But it’s only in the twenty-first or twenty-second chromosome, a far more primal area. Their hatred of us is a natural reaction that any lower example of a species would have toward the more refined, more evolved members. They instinctively want to destroy us because they know eventually they will die out and we will replace them.”
“So now we’re more evolved?” asked Peter, with one raised eyebrow.
“Of course we are,” I said. “It’s an established scientific fact.”
“I don’t mean to poke holes in your theories,” said Peter, “but I see one tiny problem. Wouldn’t that kind of mean the end of the human race?”
“Of course not,” I said, unable to comprehend Peter’s ignorance. “Why do you think God gave us sperm banks?”
Peter just buried his head in his hands and Derek looked completely confused. But my brilliance frequently had that effect on people.
We spent most of the rest of lunch schooling Derek in the ways of looking without looking. I figured the bet was already won, except for one thing. Derek wasn’t drooling over these guys the way we were. It was more like he was sizing them up. I was kinda hoping Peter wouldn’t notice, but he did. He wasn’t ready to declare me the winner just yet.
“One day of mild interest doesn’t count,” he said later when I got him alone. “Remember, you said he he’d be obsessed. He didn’t look obsessed to me. We’ll just wait and see how this plays out. We’ve got time.”
I wasn’t worried. Derek still spent a lot of time glued to his computer where my little messages to love muscle were being constantly reinforced in his brain. You couldn’t look at subliminal messages for that long without becoming obsessed. It was an established scientific fact.
But the next day at lunch, Derek actually seemed less interested in scoping out the guys. He was back glued to his computer, although he wasn’t playing a game. I didn’t get it. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I asked him what he was doing.
“Reading about nutrition,” he said.
“What are you taking a life sciences class or something?”
“No, it’s for my workouts.”
“Oh.”
Peter was too smug for words. I just kept my eyes on the show and tired not to look at him. Oh well, I guessed subliminal suggestion wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I’d have to come up with another plan. But Peter was right about one thing, there was plenty of time until graduation. I knew I’d come up with something brilliant long before then. I had an incredibly devious mind.
In the mean time, I kept peeking at Chad’s table. There he was, sitting with his football buddies and their girlfriends. It was pretty easy to pick out Liz. She was the one hanging all over him. She was pretty enough and he really did seem to like her a lot. I kept hoping he’d look over in our direction, but he never did. I wondered if he had his own version of look but don’t look.
The rest of the week passed pretty much in the same way, except Derek eventually lost his limp. He was very enthusiastic about his workouts. There was a guy at the gym who told him he had a really good frame for adding mass. He was so jazzed about it he was practically hopping with joy. You’d think he’d won the lottery or something.
Saturday rolled around and I began to contemplate my next meeting with Chad. After a week of him ignoring me I didn’t feel at all like being early. Not to mention our garage shelves fell over again right around two o’clock. What a mess, picking up all that heavy, goopy junk. Of course I jammed my hand on one of those big, greasy metal auto-things and it hurt like hell. And then I had to wash. So I didn’t make it to the bleachers until three o’clock exactly. Chad was already there with his shirt off. My God, I’d forgotten what a fucking stud he was. I could feel myself getting hard already.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” he said.
“Why? Because I wasn’t here waiting for you wagging my tail like a little puppy dog waiting for his master?” Whoa. Where did that come from? I guess a week of watching Liz stick to him like lint had affected me more than I thought. I’d better tone down the attitude if I didn’t want to blow this—er… ah, you know what I mean.
“What’s your problem?” he said.
“Nothing. Sorry. Forget I said that.”
This week, I thought I’d start him off with a hand job, release some of that excess pressure. And when I took him in my hand and started stimulating him, he looked disappointed.
“No tongue today?” he said.
“I thought we’d work up to that,” I answered. Sure enough, less than a minute later he was shooting his first load. I also got a quite satisfying moan out of him.
“Damn, you’re good. You’re a lot better at that than I am.”
“Years of practice,” I said. “Now maybe you’ll hold it together long enough to have some fun.” Then I started in with my tongue flitting and darting. He was completely hard again in a second.
“Hold on to it,” I called, pausing. “Make it last.” Then I started back in.
“Oh fuck!” he shouted. “Oh fuck!” A sentiment he kept repeating, with minor variations, and at ever an increasing volume. I knew I wasn’t as good as he was making me out to be. He was just so damn repressed and horny. This time he made it a minute and a half before he blew.
“Damn,” he said, panting. “I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.”
“And we’ve only scratched the surface,” I said.
And then I heard it again, that same annoying female voice. “Chad, are you down here. I heard you shouting. Are you ok?”
“I thought you were going to leave her at home,” I hissed.
“I did,” he whispered, pulling up his pants. “But she was acting all weird like she suspected something. She must have followed me.”
“Terrific!” I said. “Maybe you should get her a leash and tie her up in the backyard.”
“Chad?” came Liz’s voice. “Is that you?”
Damn, she was close. It was dark down here and there were plenty of cross sections so she couldn’t see us clearly, but there was no doubt she could see us.
“Fuck, what do I do?” asked Chad.
I had an idea, not one of my favorites, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Hit me,” I said.
“What?” asked Chad.
“In the mouth,” I said. “Draw a little blood. Say you caught me looking. It’s not the first time I’ve been beat up by a jock.”
“Really?” He actually looked a little concerned, but there wasn’t time for that now.
“Just hit me,” I said.
He raised his fist.
“Remember,” I said, putting my hand on his fist, “I said just a little blood.”
He nodded once, I removed my hand and then he let me have it.
I saw stars as I landed on the ground. I’d forgotten how much I hated pain. A little probing with my tongue confirmed my lip was split and bleeding. And just in time. Liz stepped through the last set of cross sections and into our private paradise.
“Chad, what’s going on?” she asked.
“I caught the little cocksucker staring at me,” he said.
Cocksucker? That was good, and surprisingly appropriate. I was tempted to stay and hear more, but I knew my part in this script only too well. I jumped up and took off running. And just as I got to the outside world, I could hear Liz ask, “Chad, why is your shirt off?” I almost bust out laughing. I really wanted to stay around to hear what he’d come up with, but I knew better and I made myself scarce.
Life began to settle into a kind of routine. During the week, it was the same old same old at lunch with Derek and Peter. Derek still continued to have only the mildest of interests in the never ending meat parade. Chad never even glanced my way. But Saturdays were a different story.
Sometimes, in the space between BJs, Chad and I would get talking about school and other stuff. We both liked the big summer blockbuster action movies, neither of us liked cheese cake, and we both thought we should pull out of Iraq. As a rule our conversations never got too deep, but there was one notable exception.
I had just finished blowing Chad for the third time. He was slightly out of breath and looking very, very relaxed.
“Bandon, can I tell you something?” he said.
“I already know how talented I am,” I told him, “but, then again, I never get tired of hearing it.”
“It’s not that,” he laughed. “I mean you are pretty amazing… with that tongue… Jesus. But I meant something else.”
“Sure,” I said.
“But you can’t tell anyone else—ever.”
“I never do,” I said. “I have super-secret-keeping powers.”
And even though we were alone under the bleachers of a disserted football field, he still lowered his voice when he said, “Sometimes when I’m in the showers with the team, I look at the other guys.”
That was interesting. Although I have to say I expected something of the sort already. He enjoyed our little encounters just a bit too much for things to be any other way.
“You look at them,” I prompted him.
“Well, I look at their muscles, especially the guys who are bigger than me.”
“And how does that make you feel?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, blushing, “I can’t look at them too long or I’d have a problem.” He looked down at his cock. It was still out in the open but resting.
“Big guys turn you on?” I asked, my eyebrows rising.
“Yeah, but only if they’re bigger than me. And it doesn’t make me gay. I mean I don’t like musicals or anything.”
“Sure, sure,” I said. “Enjoying musicals, of course, would be extremely gay, where as being turned on by large, muscular men could happen to anyone. It’s an established scientific fact.”
“Exactly, I knew you’d understand.”
Oh I understood alright. This poor, poor boy. I thought about setting him straight—if you’ll excuse the term—right there, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t ready for that yet. But given time, I felt sure I could bring him around. So, I assured him I didn’t think he was gay, and then proceeded to suck his cock.
One Monday in early October, Derek marched into the cafeteria, sat down and placed his elbow on the table.
“Arm wrestle me,” he said.
“Ok,” I said, shrugging. Bam! He brought me down with out even blinking.
“Holy shit,” I said. “What the hell happened to you?” It was my turn to rub my arm.
“You know, just my workouts,” he said, grinning. He pulled back his sleeve and flexed for us. There was a noticeable bulge, where there had been nothing a month ago. He was growing a bicep, there was no question.
“That’s coming along pretty fast,” I said.
“The guy at the gym says I have good genetics. I can beat all the guys in the computer lab now too,” he said like he was commenting on the weather.
“You don’t sound all that happy about it,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “I’m still pretty small and it just takes so long to get any size at all.”
“You’ve got time,” I said.
“I guess,” he said.
The next day at lunch, Peter and I were a little surprised when Derek sailed right past our table without slowing. We watched with interest to see where he’d go and were both a little alarmed when he walked straight up to where Frank Pierce, our local gym rat, was sitting resplendent in a skimpy muscle shirt. Man, I thought we’d told him: if you want to live a long and healthy life, you don’t talk to the meat, especially Frank Pierce. That guy’s biceps were looking particularly angry and pumped today with huge thick veins running up them and disappearing into his vicious looking, bulging delts. He looked like he was just waiting for an excuse to use them to start pounding on someone. We sat there on the edge of our seats waiting for the fists to start flying. But after a few minutes of giving Derek the glare-of-death, Frank’s expression softened and the two of them began to talk.
“Well, I guess Derek is kind of a gym-rat-in-training. Maybe they speak the same language,” said Peter.
Of course that had to be it. And given my experiences with Chad together with Derek and Frank, maybe our don’t-talk-to-the-meat policy wasn’t as sound a scientific concept as we originally thought.
When I got to the bleachers the next Saturday, Chad looked a little upset.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I can’t meet you next week,” he said.
I was surprised at how much that alarmed me. “Why?” I asked.
“We’ve got a game against Bridgeport,” he said.
“So, meet me afterwards,” I said. The thought of him all hot and sweaty after a game, was pretty enticing.
“I don’t know how long it will go.”
“Not long,” I said. “They have no defense. You’ll blow right through them.”
Suddenly Chad’s mouth dropped open in sheer shock and surprise. It was one of the funniest looks I think I’d ever seen on anyone, and I broke out laughing. “What?” I asked in between guffaws. “What’s the matter?”
“They don’t have any defense,” he said. “It’s just, you know, I wouldn’t expect you to know that.”
I smiled a little, sighed and sat myself on the ground. “I’m not going to lie to you, Chad,” I said. “I started going to the games for less than sportsman-like reasons. But you can’t spend hours watching a bunch of sweaty big guys run up and down the field without picking up something about the game. It’s an established scientific fact.”
Chad just shook his head. “Liz has been to plenty of my games and she doesn’t know a halfback from half time.”
I shrugged. I refused to comment on Liz. In fact, most of the time I refused to even speak her name. “So,” I asked, “Bridgeport doesn’t have any defense, but their offense is pretty tight. What are you going to do?”
Suddenly Chad looked horrified. “I can’t talk football with you,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked. “Are you in a hurry?”
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that… it would make you seem too much like a… like a real guy.”
“I am a real guy,” I said, tossing my hair and flashing my eyes.
“No you’re not,” he said quickly, “You’re a—” Suddenly he broke off. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he said. And before I could get in another word, he grabbed his shirt and took off, running.
What the heck was that? I’d known there was a sexual identity crisis brewing. I’d just never expected it to hit so hard and so fast. I felt a little like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. I guessed some of the lies Chad had been telling himself so he could keep our weekly appointments had just blown up in his face. I suddenly realized that I might never see him again. The sense of loss took me completely by surprise. I guess I’d never realized just how much these visits with Chad meant to me. On the other hand, I couldn’t help thinking that if he made it through this, there might be something bigger and better for us on the other side. I could only hope.
The next week Derek alternated lunch tables. One day he would sit with Peter and me, the next he would sit with Frank. We kept trying to get him to tell us what he and Frank were talking about. “Workout stuff,” was all he would say.
The next Saturday I went to the Bridgeport game. Did you honestly think I could stay away? Chad saw me cheering him on in the bleachers, and after that his game went to crap. Oh well, so much for my cheering ability. It wasn’t long before the coach pulled him and he spent the rest of the game warming the bench. I felt a little bad about that, but at least I knew he was thinking about me. After the game, I hung around under the bleachers for a while half hoping he’d show up. He didn’t.
During lunch the next week, I started playing the staring game, just to see what Chad would do. Peter was aghast. I was breaking all the rules, and risking our anonymity. I’m not sure if Chad noticed or not. He at least pretended he didn’t but eventually I found out he did.
I guess that’s why it took me until Friday to notice Derek. I could tell there was something off about him all week, but I couldn’t put my finger on it until Friday. Then it hit me. His t shirt wasn’t fitting him quite right. It was pulling tight across the chest and in the shoulders. And then it hit me. Holy crap, Derek had a chest and shoulders. I mean they weren’t huge or anything but they were definitely there, filling in his shirt. Damn. Derek was growing a body.
“Not bad, Derek,” I said grabbing his shoulder. It felt pretty solid. “Keep it up and pretty soon you can join the parade.”
He kind of gave me a half grin and shrugged. “I’m not really anything yet,” he said.
“And modest, too,” I said. “This boy is getting sexier by the second.” He actually blushed.
Peter was kind of looking at Derek as though he hadn’t seen him before. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had been slow on the uptake.
There had been another football game Thursday after school, but I had decided not to torture Chad by going. Although I heard through the grape vine that he hadn’t played very well then either. I like to think it was because I wasn’t in the bleachers. Poor Chad, screwed if I showed, screwed if I didn’t. I guess I’d ruined the boy. Oh well, just another part of the curse of being me. I still made our usual three o’clock rendezvous under the bleachers, but once again he didn’t come. I was beginning to think, it really was over and I became depressed.
I was on my way to the bathroom during class one day, when I ran into Chad. There was no one else in the hall, so I said hi. He grabbed me and violently shoved me up against the lockers.
“Stop staring at me at lunch, Brandon” he growled. “People are starting to talk.”
“People are always taking about something,” I said. “They need to gossip, like they need to breath. It’s an established scientific fact.”
“Don’t give me any of your blond bullshit,” he said. “I just want you to leave me alone. It’s over, ok? If you keep it up, I’ll have to hurt you—for real. Understand?”
“Sure,” I said. Then he banged me up against the lockers, before he let me go and thundered on his way.
Ouch.
I didn’t really pay much attention to anything for the next couple of weeks, wallowing in the loss of a relationship that had never truly existed in the first place. I was a sad, sick excuse for a person. Even the meat parade couldn’t snap me out of it. Finally Peter talked me into going to the Halloween party our school was having. I told him I’d go, but I didn’t really expect to have any fun. I had a little Devil costume I kept for just such occasions. It had a red hood with horns but the face was completely exposed. I could have worn a mask, but when you have a face as cute as mine, you really didn’t want to cover it up. Peter came as the headless horseman, or at least that’s what he told everybody he was. Since he didn’t have a horse he just looked kinda like a headless guy wondering around.
“I’m the headless horseman,” he kept telling everyone, “a horseman.” But let’s face it; a horseman without a horse was pretty lame.
Derek said he was going but he wouldn’t tell us what he would be wearing, so Peter and I spent the first few minutes trying to figure out who he was. Most guys came as horribly gored zombies or Hollywood serial killers. There was a host of Jasons and Freddies and Mike Myerses. Originality was not a huge strong point. Of course there were a couple of bright spots. A few of the jocks came as gladiators 300 style, with very little armor and big pecs and cut six packs for all to see. Mmmmm, a couple of them had really nice thick, ripped legs. And there was this one guy who came as a shirtless, hooded executioner, in black leather pants. He didn’t quite have the bulk to pull it off, but he definitely had some useful meat on his bones and he was ripped to shreds.
After a few minutes I ditched Peter and, poor pathetic soul that I was, I went to look for Chad. Of course I had no idea what he would be wearing, and I had no idea what I would do if I actually found him, but I went looking anyway.
I had spent about twenty minutes wondering through the throng looking for someone of his approximate height and build when I noticed the executioner guy heading toward me. For a second I thought it might be Chad. But the executioner was too short and he simply didn’t have Chad’s bulk. Plus he was totally ripped. He had amazingly cut abs, a firm defined chest, softball sized delts, and thick angry looking biceps that his skin was struggling to contain. Did I mention he was hot, really hot in those tight leather pants, and my heart did beat a little faster when he stopped in front of me.
“Hi,” he said, disguising his voice by making it low and gravely. I thought it sounded familiar but I couldn’t be sure.
“Do I know you?” I asked, trying to drag my eyes up past those pecs to his black cloth hood.
“Do you, Brandon?” he said, laughing. Man, this was frustrating I almost knew who he was, almost. But I had to admit, I kind of liked the mystery.
“You know you’re really cute,” he said.
I did know that. It was my trademark. But who was this guy? “And you’re kind of hot,” I said. “What’s under the hood?”
“Come back here and I just might show you,” he nodded toward a large plywood flat of a haunted house. What the heck? I followed him back behind it.
As soon as we were alone, he dropped the gravely voice. “You know I’ve always had a thing for you, Brandon. You’re so damn cute, but you only went for the muscley guys.”
Holy crap, that voice! I knew that voice! My heart almost leapt into my throat and nearly choked me.
“Derek?” I gasped. “Holy crap, is that you?”
“In the flesh,” he said. I could just hear the cocky grin in his voice. “You like?” he said and he flexed his arm.
Fuck! The bicep that bulged up couldn’t belong to Derek’s arm. It just couldn’t. It was baseball sized, big and round and full with a vein snaking over the top of it. And his triceps seemed to extend out just as far making his upper arm look large and powerful. And his forearms were broad and strong with veins running all up and down them. I felt myself getting hard. Fuck, I was getting hard over Derek. But I couldn’t be.
“That’s not possible,” I said. “No way could you have gotten that big, that fast.”
“Frank hooked me up,” he said, “if you know what I mean. I’ve dropped almost all of my body fat in the past month and still put on about 20 pounds.”
“Steroids,” I said. “You’re on steroids?”
“Shush,” he said. “It’s not exactly legal.”
“Sorry,” I said, “But even with steroids, that was fast.”
“Yeah, that’s what everybody says. I guess I just have really good genetics.”
I looked him over, those thick pecs, that defined six pack, those broad shoulders. “My, you’re big,” I said.
“Not really,” he said. “I’m still pretty small.”
He had to be kidding. “Compared to what?” I asked.
“Compared to what I want to be,” said Derek. “I don’t know how to describe how I feel. I just know I want to be bigger, much bigger. I want to be so big, I can’t fit through doors, with muscles so huge and massive I could lift a car. Wouldn’t that be awesome? To be that fucking powerful? You’d like to see me like that, wouldn’t you?”
Holy crap, Derek was flipping out. Those steroids must have gone straight to his brain. “That almost sounds like too much muscle,” I said laughing nervously.
“I can never get too much muscle,” said Derek.
OH MY GOD! The alarm bells were back and ringing loud enough to shatter glass. And this time I knew exactly what they meant. I can never get too much muscle, that’s what Derek had said. It was one of the subliminal phrases I’d put into the malware. It wasn’t the steroids that had gone to Derek’s head; it was me! I was causing this. His whole workout binge was because of me! But that’s not fair. I wanted him to appreciate muscle, not grow it. No, he wasn’t just growing it, he was obsessed with growing it, an unrealistic amount of it, just like I programmed him to be. Fuck! What if he hurt himself? It would be my fault. Holy crap! What did I do?
“Most guys would be satisfied with the build you have now,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “In fact, steroids aren’t that good for you. Maybe you should back off on them a little.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I might just do that. They’ll only take me so far anyway. Besides I’ve already found a better alternative.”
“A better alternative,” I stammered. “What are you talking about?”
“First you gotta promise me you won’t tell anyone about this, not even Peter,” he said looking left and right. “It’s really intense, and definitely illegal, and it’s probably really dangerous, too. But Frank knew some people who knew some people who knew this doctor… well he’s not exactly a doctor, but—“
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” I said. “What do you mean he’s not exactly a doctor? Either he is or he isn’t.”
“He’s practically a doctor. He was almost finished with medical school when they kicked him out.”
“Kicked him out?!”
“Yeah, for his revolutionary thinking. They got caught up with morality and other crap like that.”
“God forbid we should let morality bother us. What did he do?”
“Well there were these kids who had brain tumors.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” I said.
“No, don’t worry. They’re fine. Man, are they fine! When the doctors removed the tumors, they accidentally affected the brain so that it stimulated their glands to produce incredible amounts of growth hormones and testosterone. They shot right up. Each one of them grew to be over seven feet tall before they stopped. Can you imagine that, being over seven feet tall? Imagine the muscle they could pack onto their frames, especially with all those hormones rushing through them. Man, I get hard just thinking about it.”
My heart rate was up, but it wasn’t from thinking about muscle. “And what exactly is this almost-doctor going to do to you?”
“Operate on my brain, stupid, so it will stimulate my glands, just like those tumor kids.”
Stupid? “Ok, wait a minute, let me get this straight. You’re going to some med school washout to have him cut open your brain, and you’re calling me stupid?” Nobody called me stupid!
His face fell. “I thought you would understand. I guess I just can’t explain to you how much this means to me, how growing muscles is all I think about anymore. I have to do this. I just have to. I’m not even sure I understand why.” Then Derek turned his ripped, muscular back on me and disappeared out into the crowd.
He might not understand why, but I did. Oh my God, I had to do something. I couldn’t let Derek go to some quack to have his brain sliced and diced. He could wind up a drooling vegetable or worse. I had to take action, but what?
I wondered out into the crowd. I was so lost in thought I didn’t see him approach until he was standing right next to me.
“Hey Brandon,” said Chad. He was dressed like some kind of zombie serial killer, torn pants, bare chested with fake blood and scars painted on him and a horrible rubber mask.
Oh for the love of God, why did he choose this moment?
“Hi Chad,” I said.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “Now is not a good time,” but knowing the way things were, it would probably be the only time he’d ask. So, I followed him out the door to the alley at the side of the auditorium, where it was pitch black and I’m sure he felt no one would see us.
“I just want to say up front, I know I’ve treated you badly,” he said.
Well, that was a promising start.
“But it hasn’t been easy on me either,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d been doing under the bleachers all those times, what I’d been doing. I would think about you and I would get hard. It was freaky.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” I said, nodding at his crotch. He was sporting a nice one.
“Fuck! See, I don’t have any control over it,” he said, adjusting his stance.
“Who does?” I asked. “You want some help with that?”
There was a split second where he thought about it, but then I could see his mind snap shut behind his eyes. “No! Fuck, no! That’s not why I’m here. After a couple of weeks, I couldn’t stand it anymore and I told Liz.”
“You told Liz?” I said, shocked. “Everything?”
“Yup, everything.”
“What did she say?”
“At first she was mad, real mad. She stormed out and slammed the door after her. I thought that was it. It was over.”
“Is it?” That sounded entirely too eager. “I mean, was it?”
“She came to see me a couple of days later and we had a long talk. We came to an understanding that we both could live with. So, no. it’s not over.”
“I see,” I said my hopes dashing, “the premarital sex ban is off.”
“Kind of. She agreed to do what you did. But if it’s any conciliation, she’s nowhere near as good.”
Was it a conciliation that he was getting lousy blow jobs? Yeah, actually, it was.
“Liz said I just couldn’t leave things with you the way I’d left them,” said Chad. “She said I had to come talk to you.”
So the bitch was generous in victory. Good for her.
“And I want you to have this.” He reached into the bag he was carrying, pulled out his football jersey, and handed it to me. “You used to like it off of me better than on; now it will always be off of me.” Not knowing what else to do, I took it from him and put it on. It was huge on me, even over my costume it was practically a baggy dress.
“Thanks,” I said. I honestly felt like I’d had my guts smashed out and that was all I could think of to say.
He started to go but then turned back. “Oh, and don’t wear that to school. If you do, I’ll have to say you stole it and then kick the shit out of you in public to make it look good.”
I had no response to that and after a minute of waiting futilely for one, he turned and walked out of the alley.
I’m ashamed to say I wanted to cry. It wasn’t just Chad. It was also the mess with Derek. I felt wretched and awful. I pulled off Chad’s shirt. I thought about chucking it into the dumpster, but for some reason I kept it instead. I had just finished stuffing it down my costume when Peter found me.
“Brandon, there you are,” he said, cheerfully. “Having a good time? I bet you’re glad I made you come.”
That was the first time in my life I think I ever hit someone.